


Extraneous Scenes

by SuperWhoLock_12



Series: An Ordinary Librarian in an Extraordinary World [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Chocolate, Dom/sub, F/M, Flogging, General bitchiness, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLock_12/pseuds/SuperWhoLock_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title suggests, these are scenes that were written, but for some reason didn't make it into Brown Mountain Lights. Some are domestic, some are sexy, some are just weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scene 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular scene was written to go after Dean catches Kat in the library, after she's teased him for slapping her ass. I decided it was too dark for my Dean, and since that chapter also holds Kat's departure, I didn't want it to look like she left because of this incident.

_Shit. Could Cas get here fast enough, if I prayed to him? Probably, but that was a gross abuse of prayer. I sighed, contemplated climbing the bookshelves for a moment, then surrendered to the inevitable and walked slowly over to Dean. As I had half expected, he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, then stalked off towards the bedrooms._

When we got to his room, he tossed me down on the bed on my back. I cried out and tried to sit up, but he straddled my hips and held my wrists above my head, pinning me down in a reproduction of the first night we'd met. “Please, Dean, it hurts,” I whimpered.

“Not as much as it's going to,” he hissed, and looked meaningfully at the bedside table. I followed his gaze, and as I had feared, there sat the leather flogger. “Do you remember your safeword?” he asked.

“Topeka,” I whispered, closing my eyes to fight tears. I hadn't expected this. He got off me and gestured for me to strip, which I did slowly, then laid back down on my stomach. The cuffs were still attached to the bed from last night, and he roughly buckled them around my wrists and ankles. I heard rustling to my right, buried my face in the pillows, and tried to take deep breaths.

The first strike hit without any warning, and I screamed and pulled hard at the cuffs, the sound muffled by the fabric under my face. It hurt, it hurt so badly, and he didn't give me any respite between blows. The beating seemed to go on forever, and when it finally stopped, I was shaking and whining into the pillows, my throat raw, unable to think. There was no warm pink fuzziness this time, just the haze caused by excruciating pain.

I dimly felt hands unfasten the ankle cuffs, then my hips were being pulled up and Dean slammed into me with bruising force. I had just enough slack to push up some on my hands, so that my face wasn't being forced into the pillows with every thrust, and then I just hung my head and took it.

When he finished, I heard him panting behind me, then he slowly withdrew. Much more gently, he unfastened the cuffs around my wrists, and I collapsed onto the bed on my side and curled up. He laid a hesitant hand on my shoulder, and I shook it off. “Don't touch me,” I muttered into the pillows.

There was a moment of silence, and then his hand was back on my shoulder. “Kat, I'm -” he began.

I exploded upright, slapping his hand away from me. “I said don't fucking touch me!” I screamed, then curled back up and started crying, those huge, horrible sobs that shook my whole body. “Just go away,” I forced out and I could sense Dean, frozen with indecision, standing by the bed. Eventually, he draped a sheet over me and walked out.

I didn't get a chance to cry for long before the door opened again and the bed moved as someone sat down. I opened my eyes to get a fuzzy glimpse of plaid before another round of sobs shook me, and I couldn't see anymore. When I felt a huge hand on my back, though, I jerked forward and screamed. “Please don't touch me,” I sobbed once I got my breath back, “it hurts too much.”

A few shocked seconds later, gentle hands pulled the sheet away from my back. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then the hand moved to the top of my head, stroking my hair. It stayed there until my huge, wracking sobs had subsided into relatively normal tears, and then the bed shifted again as Sam got up. I heard whispers at the door, and then more movement. When a small hand cupped my cheek, though, I opened my eyes again and looked up at Charlie's guilty face.

“Hey,” she said softly. Then she swallowed and said, “If I had known -”

“No, no,” I interrupted, still hiccuping. “No, this is not as bad as it looks. We – well. You can see -” I gestured above my head, to the cuffs still woven into the headboard. “Part of this was – fun. Last night, it was fun, and it was great, and it hurt like a bitch when I woke up. But then – but then, he got me back here again this morning, and he was so angry, and I just let him hit me until he was done. And that wouldn't have been so bad, except -” I swallowed a threatening sob “- he fucked me after, and there was no – no affection in it, just anger, and I can't –” I dissolved into tears again, and this time it was Charlie who stroked my hair until I calmed down a bit.

As I was hiccuping out the last of my sobs, I heard a thud outside the door. “What was that?” I asked Charlie, raising a trembling hand to swipe at my eyes.

“That would be Sam beating the hell out of Dean, probably,” she said soberly, and I jerked upright. I crawled off the bed and wrapped the sheet around me, evading Charlie's attempts to push me back down, then staggered as quickly as I could to the open door and into the hallway.

Sure enough, Sam had Dean pinned to the wall, and Dean's left eye was quickly bruising. His arms hung limply at his sides, and he was clearly not putting up any fight at all. “No! Stop,” I called, coughing in the middle of the cry. “Please, stop! Don't – you said you'd never fight over a girl! Stop!”

Sam looked at me, his fist still cocked. “Kat, do you know what your back looks like? You're bleeding,” he said tightly.

 _I am? Wow._ I felt myself blush, knowing it went all the way down to where the sheet met my body. “Sam, it's – ah – not exactly what it looks like. We've talked about some of this before, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. A spanking is not a – a whipping,” he hissed, and drew back to hit Dean again.

“Sam, stop!” I blushed harder. I must have been the color of a tomato. “My back is not the problem! What caused that was – it was consensual, okay?”

“It was?” Sam and Dean said in unison.

I glared at Dean. “Yeah. If it wasn't, you would have heard the safeword, fuckwit.”

Sam slowly let Dean slide to the floor, relaxing his arm.

“Then what is the problem?” Sam inquired, less heat in his tone.

“The problem,” I said, making eye contact with Dean, “is the sex we had afterwards. And that fact that you don't realize that means we need to have a very long talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized at this point that this scene was never going to be used, and so didn't write the conversation. It would have undoubtedly turned into a screaming match that ended in makeup sex, since that's how Dean and Kat roll, so use your imagination ;)


	2. Allergies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many things is Kat allergic to?
> 
> How much time do you have?

I was sitting in the kitchen flipping through a cookbook when Sam came in the door, his arms laden with plastic shopping bags. I jumped up and grabbed the gallon of milk dangling from his hand before it could fall, giving him a reproving look and placing it in the fridge. “Sam, how many times have I told you that you _can_ actually make two trips?”

Sam grinned and dumped his armload on the table. “Dunno. Wasn't listening.”

I rolled my eyes and started helping him put the groceries away, muttering rude things under my breath when I saw the frankly disgusting amount of kale he'd bought. “We have to throw over half of this stuff away every time you go grocery shopping,” I said, brandishing a bundle of the green leaves at him, “because neither Dean, Charlie, nor I like it and not even you can eat this much kale.”

Sam threw me a mulish look over his shoulder as he restocked the cereal cupboard. “I'm holding out hope I'll convert you.”

“Dream on,” I muttered, tossing the sheaf into the already overstuffed vegetable crisper.

When I finished filling the fridge, Sam was arranging apples in a fruit bowl. “Here, catch.” He tossed me a large Red Delicious as Dean wandered into the kitchen (just in time for the work to be done. Typical).

I managed to catch it, then looked at it bemusedly. “What do you want me to do with this?”

Sam glanced up at me quizzically. “Uh, eat it?”

“Oh,” I said, tossing it back. “I can't. I'm allergic to raw apples.”

Sam shrugged and put the apple back. “Okay, whatever.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I was lying on the bed reading when the door to the room opened and Dean poked his head in. “Kitten, that book particularly interesting?”

I put it down. “Not particularly. Why?”

Dean smiled mysteriously. “Come with me.”

Intrigued, I followed him out the back door to the bunker. A small table with two chairs had been set up by Cas' garden, and Dean gestured to one of the chairs. “Have a seat.” Mystified, I followed his instructions, and he produced a large picnic basket from behind a rock and began unloading it with a flourish.

“Cold ham, sliced veggies, deviled eggs, rolls, butter, lemonade for you, beer for me, plates, napkins, and for the grand finale -” he made a show of feeling deep within the basket, “- the last two brownies from the batch you made yesterday.”

It was a picnic. He'd put together a little romantic alfresco dinner. _Who'd have thought Dean Winchester had it in him?_

We must have spent an hour over the meal, laughing and chatting and feeding each other tidbits like one of those couples in a nauseating romantic comedy, before the food was gone and Dean packed the dishes back into the basket.

I turned my chair to face the sunset and sighed contentedly as Dean sprawled on the ground almost at my feet. “Kitten, come down here and lay with me,” he said, and patted my calf.

I pouted down at him. “I can't, honey, I'm allergic to the grass.”

Dean shrugged “Okay, whatever.” He shifted to sit with his back against my legs, and I ran my fingers through his hair as we watched the sun go down.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I looked up from pawing through my underwear drawer and leveled a glare at my fiance. “Dean, I have to go shopping.”

He recoiled in horror. “What? No! We went shopping, what, six months ago? And God knows you bought enough underwear and bras and froofy girly things to last you at least a year!”

“Normally, they would have!” I shot back. “Unfortunately, I have this fiance who keeps tearing my underwear off me!”

Dean looked vaguely sheepish, then drew himself up and fixed a stern look on his face. “No. You can find whatever you need online.”

Three days later, I was wandering through the mall with Dean trailing behind me, carrying three bags of clothes and two of shoes. I was carrying a bag of basic underwear, but when I walked past Macy's and saw they were running a sale on lingerie, I stopped and bit my lip.

Dean noticed my pause and shot forward to put himself bodily between me and the entrance. “No. Absolutely not. We have walked around every store in this mall three times and my feet hurt. We are going home.”

“But Dean,” I fluttered my eyelashes at him, “I wanted to get some pretty things, to wear for you!” I could see he was weakening, so I stuck my lower lip out – just a little – and he caved.

“Fine,” he growled. “But make it quick, understand?”

I reached up and pecked him on the lips. “Promise I'll make it worth your while,” I whispered in his ear, then darted around him and into the store. I was headed to the right when I noticed Dean was still standing in the entrance. “What are you doing?”

“The quickest way to the lingerie is this way,” he said, jerking his head to the left with a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh. Yeah, it is, but that goes through the perfume section, and I'm allergic to most of the perfumes,” I explained.

Dean sighed, “Okay, whatever,” and followed me the long way around.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him towards a handmade jewelry booth, my eye caught by a beautiful silver and turquoise bracelet. “Easy, kitten,” he laughed, pulling back against me to slow me down, “you'll dislocate my shoulder.” When I finally made it over to the vendor, I realized her pieces were by far the highest quality I'd seen so far at this street fair. Unfortunately, they also carried the highest prices, and I sighed with disappointment. 

I'd turned to go mollify myself with a funnel cake when I heard the vendor shout, “You! You, in the plaid!” I looked down at myself, then at Dean – the flannel-wearing brothers had rubbed off on me and I was also wearing a plaid button-down – then looked at the young woman confusedly.

She came around the table to us and said, “Were you in Sheridan, Wyoming, about five years ago?”

Dean looked down at her, obviously just as confused as I was, and answered, “Yes?”

She threw her arms around him suddenly, and I let go of his hand in shock. “You saved my son's life,” she said into his chest. “He was exploring the school basement on a dare and something tried to kill him. You and your brother killed it and saved him!”

Dean patted her gingerly on the back. “It's our job, ma'am, it's what we do.” He mouthed over her head, Rawhead. I nodded, and he began the process of disentangling himself from her.

When she let go and stepped back, she gestured towards her booth. “Anything you want, it's yours. Take it! Let me give you something in return.” Dean shook his head and demurred, but she insisted, “Please, it's nothing. You gave me my son back.”

Finally, Dean gestured to me. “My fiance here had her eye on that bracelet...”

Before I could even blink, the vendor had snatched up the bracelet and fastened it around my wrist, then stepped back. “You know, he's a hero.”

“Believe me,” I said, watching Dean blush, “I know.”

We managed to move away from the table when another customer called the vendor over to inquire about a necklace, and Dean shuddered in relief. “Man, I love helping people, but that just makes me feel awkward.”

I grinned and wrapped my arm around his waist. “She's right though.” When Dean's blush reached his ears, I mercifully changed the subject. “Where'd Sam get off to? We should probably head home.”

Dean surveyed the crowd from his lofty height, then frowned. “Shit. He's over with the dogs up for adoption.” 

I snickered. “Good luck with that. Meet me at the funnel cake stand when you've pried him loose.”

“Hey! You know damn good and well it'll take two of us to get him out of there,” Dean said, scowling at me.

I raised my hands. “Don't look at me, hon. I can't, I'm allergic to dogs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever,” he said, and stomped off through the crowd. I giggled and turned to find my funnel cake.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel hanging on the rack over the door. I'd pulled it out of the dryer right before I got in, and it was still beautifully warm from the residual heat. Rubbing it over my face, I breathed in the smell of clean laundry and sighed with contentment. _Huh. Smells different. Boys must have switched detergents on me._ Mentally shrugging, I dried myself off and pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top.

An hour later, I was absently scratching a dull itch on my leg when Dean jerked my hand away. “Hey! What -” I started, before noticing the horrified look on his face as he stared at my legs. When I looked down, I realized why.

“Ah, shit,” I hissed, running my hand carefully over the bright red rash spreading up my calves. Pulling my shirt up, I checked my stomach – yep, there too. “Dammit,” I muttered. “Do we have any cortisone cream?”

Dean tore his eyes away from my legs to look at me. “Yeah, but what caused this?”

“I got into something I'm allergic to,” I said, now fighting the urge to scratch all over my body at once. “And can you find some Benadryl, too?”

Dean frowned. “Not Benadryl cream?”

“No,” I said through gritted teeth, “because, believe it or not, I'm allergic to Benadryl cream.”

He stared at me, then threw his hands up. “Seriously? How the hell are you allergic to Benadryl cream? It is literally supposed to stop allergic reactions. It shouldn't be possible -”

“I'm allergic to one of the inactive ingredients, now for the love of God please just go!” I shouted over him.

Snapping his mouth shut, he pointed a finger at me and glared. “Fine. But once that stuff is off you, we're gonna need a list so this doesn't happen again.” 

When Dean returned, he was bearing not only my requested pills and cream, but a pen and a pad of paper. “I'm taking notes,” he said firmly, setting the medications down next to me.

I sighed and swallowed two Benadryl, then uncapped the cream and began smearing it onto the worst of the rash. “Let's start with outdoor allergies. Almost all grass, oak trees, birch trees, maple trees, lilies, azaleas, and a couple other flowers not native to this country that I only discovered when I went to an exotic botanical garden. Foods: fresh raw apples, peaches, plums, cherries, pears, and nectarines. In the spring, pineapple, bananas, and sometimes honeydew, I can never tell. Those aren't deadly like some food allergies, and they aren't a problem when they're cooked. Next -”

“That's not it?!” Dean interrupted incredulously, still writing.

I laughed “Oh, nothing like everything, no. I think this particular attack was actually caused by you boys switching detergents on me, so let's start there. All scented detergents and bath products except Tide, Neutrogena, and Clinique. Assume I'm allergic to a perfume or cologne unless I tell you otherwise. Also allergic to dogs, most birds, and mildly to cats, mild enough that I can live with one with minimal trouble, obviously.” I paused. “I think those are the basics.”

Dean looked at his list in disbelief. “The _basics_. Nineteen named things and three sweeping generalizations are the _basics?!”_

I shrugged. “Yeah. My childhood was fun until they figured out why I kept breaking out into horrible rashes.” I winced. “Speaking of, we have to get new laundry detergent stat.”

Dean simply stared at me, then slowly lowered his head into his hands. “This is ridiculous.”

“You're telling me,” I retorted, “it's not your body covered in little red bumps. Now come on, get up, you have to go shopping.” Dean shook his head, still buried in his hands. I tugged gently on his hair. “Come on, get up, gotta replace laundry detergent so I can have another shower and dry off with something I'm not allergic to.” When he still didn't move, I leaned in and whispered, “You can join me in the shower.”

He shot off the couch and started for the door, only to turn and look at me when he realized I wasn't following. “Well?” he questioned. “Aren't you coming?”

“Nope,” I responded, digging my fingers into the couch cushions to keep from clawing at my legs and stomach. “I am staying right here with my cortisone cream until everything's been washed again. Twice.”

Dean stared at me. “But that'll take forever!”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, this shower I'm supposed to join you in will be...”

“Dependent on how fast you finish the laundry.”

I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him move that fast.


End file.
